


The Adventure of the Unknown Phone Number

by Trillsabells



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trillsabells/pseuds/Trillsabells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was far from the first time Lestrade had received a text message from Sherlock Holmes that he had no idea what it was about, and it almost certainly wasn’t going to be the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Unknown Phone Number

07700900872

SH

 

It was far from the first time Lestrade had received a text message from Sherlock Holmes that he had no idea what it was about, and it almost certainly wasn’t going to be the last. Sherlock wasn’t even working on the case he had on at the moment. Still, if Mr Genius thought the number was relevant he wasn’t going to be the one who ignored it in case it turned out to be vital to finding the perpetrator. He set about diligently looking up who it belonged to.

Pay-as-you-go, no details. Dammit. Best to go straight to the source then.

He sent Sherlock six text messages, rang him four times and left two voicemails. Nothing.

What was he supposed to do with this number? Call it? Pass it on? Was it even for his case?

Desperate, he sent a message to all the DI’s he knew who consulted Sherlock to try and find out what Sherlock was working on at the moment. No one knew anything about the phone number or the current location of the Consulting Detective. Gregson came round personally to frown at him and ask,

“Isn’t he supposed to be getting married?”

As if his long-awaited much anticipated upcoming nuptials to one Doctor John Watson a week on Saturday would be enough to stop Sherlock Holmes from interfering with cases and confusing Scotland Yard.

Fed up, he decided to just call the bloody number. He didn’t even know if he should let the person on the other end know he was a police officer. If in doubt, he would pretend he had called the wrong number and at least he might be able to find out who on earth he was ringing.

_“Stamford.”_

He sat up in his chair as the phone was answered by a male voice after a few rings.

“Yes, hello. My name’s Greg Lestrade, can I ask who this is?”

 _”Lestrade!”_ the voice seemed pleased to hear him. _”It’s Mike Stamford, John said you would call. I suppose we’d better arrange a time to meet up then?”_

John said he would call, not Sherlock? Still at least he now had a name to work with. He was supposed to be meeting this man?

“Er, yeah,” he said. “How soon can we do that?”

 _”I don’t suppose you can do tonight, can you? I know it’s a bit fine,”_ ”Mike said, chuckling, _”but we are on a deadline here, right? And I’m on a conference the rest of this week.”_

“No, yeah, tonight should be… fine.”

He had been planning on working late anyway.

_”Great! Criterion? Eight? We’ll grab a drink.”_

“Yeah sure.”

_”Excellent, see you then.”_

“See you.”

While he hadn’t really had a clue what would be waiting for him at the end of the line, a cheerful Geordie called Mike hadn’t been very near the top of his list of probabilities.

There were three Mike or Michael Stamfords in London but only one that worked at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. Deciding it would be too much of a coincidence if this wasn’t the Mike Stamford Sherlock and John knew when Sherlock spent half his time there, he pulled up the website for the medical school and found Stamford’s profile.

Doctor Mike Stamford was a portly man with glasses and a friendly expression. He certainly didn’t look like someone who was involved in murder, kidnapping or embezzlement which should have put him out of the realm of Sherlock’s interest. That said he had arrested any number of absolute bastards who looked like the most angelic people on earth in their mug shots. And even if Stamford was as innocent as he seemed who knew what kind of trouble the man was in to have gotten involved with Sherlock and John. Perhaps this Stamford had some information that would be of use? Or something he wanted to speak to a police officer about without going through the proper channels? It would be much more useful if Sherlock would tell him what the bloody hell was going on.

He sent another text to Sherlock, then two to John for good measure, wanting to know who Mike Stamford was and why he was supposed to be meeting him. No reply. They were probably out looking at flowers or something. When he had gotten married it had been his wife and her sisters who had dealt with that sort of thing; he wasn’t sure how it was all sorted when there were two grooms. He couldn’t see either of the two men having strong opinions on the benefits of dahlias over chrysanthemums. No, scratch that. Sherlock almost certainly had strong opinions on _everything_.

It wasn’t until he was about to walk into the Criterion, still wondering if he should have worn a stab vest or arranged for backup (he had thought about asking Sally, but she had been talking about her date for that night all day – although admittedly only when Anderson was in earshot – and would probably have brained him with her baton if he had suggested it) when John finally sent him a text.

 

Sorry, been busy. Mike’s my best man, went to med school together. Thought you two would want to compare notes.

 

Compare notes on what? Wait, was this about the wedding? Did they want him to be an usher or something? He started typing out a response demanding some mildly helpful information please when-

“Excuse me, you’re not Greg Lestrade by any chance?”

Mike Stamford looked even more harmless in person, especially with his slightly nervous curious expression.

“Yes, that’s me.”

Mike’s face lit up.

“Mike Stamford,” he said, offering his hand to shake.

Lestrade took it and was soon encompassed with a firm if slightly sweaty handshake.

“I saw you hovering,” Mike said. “Don’t you hate meeting up with people you don’t know?”

He murmured agreement as Mike shuffled him inside and towards a table near the back. Mike ordered them drinks then immediately got out a cheap and battered notebook. So they were literally going to be comparing notes then. That would be interesting considering he had no notes for Mike to compare his against. Nevertheless he dutifully got out his own notebook – the spare one, not the formal one as he wasn’t certain that this was going to be on the record or not.

“So,” said Mike once their drinks arrived. “John and Sherlock getting married, eh?”

“Yeah.” This seemed like fairly safe ground so far; when were they going to get on to the trickier stuff? “Seems like.”

Mike chuckled. “You know, when I introduced them I never imagined what I was setting loose into the world.”

“You introduced them?”

This was the man responsible for the creation of what some of the PCs had distressingly started to call ‘Johnlock’ (no matter how hard he tried to make them stop)? The first one to recognise those two for the soulmates they clearly were? Suddenly it was almost like being in the presence of cupid.

“Yeah,” said Mike, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I knew Sherlock from Barts; he’s always hanging around there doing experiments and one day he happened to mention that he was looking at a new flat – god knows what he did with the last one, blow it up most likely - but couldn’t afford the rent on his own. So I suggested he get a flatmate and he said, ‘Who would want me for a flatmate?’ Then later that same day I’m minding my own business, having lunch in the park when who do I see walking along but John Watson, who I hadn’t seen since we did our-“ Mike stopped, chuckling. “You know maybe I shouldn’t tell this story. Save it for my speech.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said even though it was just getting to the good bit.

He had never heard about Sherlock and John’s first meeting. Did sparks fly? As far as he knew their first date had been a crime scene so it had to be an interesting story. Even if it did sound like a rather more clean one than was usual in best man speeches.

“Speaking of which, they didn’t give you any idea of how long they should be?” Mike said. “Only I’ve got tons of stories about John - you wouldn’t believe the stuff he got up to at med school – and I need to know a time limit so I can narrow them down a bit.”

“Time limit for what?”

“For the best man speeches. Do you know how long we can talk for?”

“No, afraid not. You could try talking to Mycroft, if you can get hold of him that is.”

“Who’s Mycroft?”

“Sherlock’s brother.”

“I didn’t know Sherlock had a brother,” said Mike, taking a sip of his beer. “He’s the man with the plan, is he?”

“I dunno. Maybe John can give you his number.”

Why wasn’t Mike meeting with Mycroft? Surely the two best men should be getting together to discuss this stuff, why was he getting- oh no. No surely. Sherlock would have _said_.

“You started working on yours then?” Mike asked.

Come on, why would Sherlock pick him? It couldn’t be.

“My what?”

And wasn’t it traditional to be asked. No wait, this was Sherlock, he never asked he assumed.

“Your best man speech. For Sherlock.”

He bloody well was!

“ _I’m_ Sherlock’s best man?”

Mike looked shocked which was pretty much justified at that particularly hysterical sounding outburst

“That’s what John said,” he said, as if laying the blame solely on his friend’s shoulder.

“Hold on,” he said, reaching for his mobile and dialling John.

_“Hello? ”_

“ _I’m_ Sherlock’s best man?”

 _“Oh for crying out- Sherlock! You were supposed to actually_ ask _Lestrade. ”_

_“Well who else was I going to pick? ”_

“I thought it would be Mycroft!”

_“Mycroft? ”_

_“God, no.”_

He could almost picture the way Sherlock would be screwing up his face as if he had suggested something unimaginably disgusting.

_“Ask him now.”_

_“Why?”_

John’s voice grew slightly fainter and Sherlock’s stronger as if John was holding out the phone to his fiancé.

_“We all know he’ll say yes. He’ll be surprised and honoured that I consider him my closest friend – after you of course and it’s not like you can be my best man - and he’ll be thrilled. Why bother?”_

Which was all true. Even now a warm feeling was unfurling in his chest.

_“It’s polite.”_

Sherlock scoffed. “I sent him Mike’s phone number like you asked.”

_“Without any explanation I bet. Okay, fine, it’s traditional.”_

_“As pointless as all the other ‘traditions’.”_

_“Well it wouldn’t be a wedding without them.”_

_“’Traditionally’ a wedding is between a man and a woman-“_

_“Sherlock, just ask him.”_

_“Lestrade,”_ Sherlock’s voice was loud enough now that it was clear Sherlock had taken the phone completely off John. Either that or John was forcing it to his fiancé’s ear which he wouldn’t put past him. _“Will you be my best man?”_

“Of course, Sherlock, I’d be thrilled.”

_“Speeches should be eight minutes long. If Mycroft kidnaps you and tries to threaten you into stepping down so he can do it instead tell him I know who ate Mummy’s lemon chiffon cake.”_

The line went dead.

He looked back over at Mike who was watching him with a mix of wariness and amusement.

“Well that’d be a good story to start your speech with,” Mike said.

Wonderful thoughts of revenge popped into his head as quickly as the wicked grin spread across his face.

“Maybe, but with eight minutes and all the Sherlock stories I’ve got there might not be enough time.”

“Oh yes,” Mike said, a matching grin meeting his lips. “What sort of stories?”

“How about the time we found him naked, handcuffed to a hotel bed…”

 

 


End file.
